Erimead

Finnick

     MADELINE WATCHES as Finnick slowly wakes up, his eyes fluttering open. Instantly he springs to his feet, and stares down at Madeline who stares back with a bored expression. "Where am I?" Finnick's melodic voice asks. "And what happened?" Madeline gets to her feet, smoothing out her long navy skirt and white blouse, that is now dirty.

"Well, after I whacked that man in the head, I whacked your head as well, and then you blacked out, leaving me wondering if you said your name was Finnick, because, we'll..." Madeline contemplates on whether or not she should tell Finnick that he is actually a fictional character, but she doesn't think that conversation would end all to well. She does want to be honest though.

"Because...?"
"Because what?" Finnick asks. "Because, how do I put this gently...your a fictional character, living in a fictional world, that an author created to become something people could read." She stares up at Finnick with sympathy wondering how he'll react to the news. "I know," he responds coolly, puzzling Madeline. "What?" She questions. "Now is not the time to talk about this," he dismisses way to calmly for this situation."

Madeline blows a strand of her mousy brown hair out of her face, now realizing her messy bun has come undone. "So you're Finnick from Erimead, the strong, and charming sixteen year old protagonist?"

"That's me," he smiles, flashing a sparkling white toothed smile. "Now who are you?"
"My name is Madeline Penn, I'm from London England." At this, Finnick grin widens, but Madeline chooses to ignore it. "How did I get here?" she asks. Finnick leans against a tree, and removes a dead leaf from his hair. "You're the only person that has the answer to that question Madeline. Now tell me, how old are you?" Confused, she gives him the answer, "I'm fifteen, turning sixteen in some time."

"Interesting," he whispers to himself. Before Madeline can ask him why her being fifteen is interesting, he grabs her hand. "We've got to get out of here. I don't know where the Jumpers have gone to, but I'd assume their close to us."

"Jumpers?" Asks Madeline. "The ones that work for the king?" "Yes, those ones," replied Finnick. "Now let's go, I've got to get back home. Once we get there you'll be able to clean up a bit. I'm sure the old goose won't mind."

"Old goose?" Madeline asks, knowing he's referring to the old lady.

"Call her whatever you like, some people call her Lady Hushed, others the Tight Lipped Turnip, and some just don't call her anything."
"Turnip? What wrong with a turnip?"
Finnick shrugs. "Ask Bear, according to the ten year old the turnip is the stupidest vegetable."

Madeline decides not to get further into the topic, but focuses on how her palms are quickly turning sweaty in Finnick's hand. Though he doesn't seem to mind.

"Oh, by the way," Finnick says after a while of walking in silence. "That hit you made on the Jumper was pretty impressive." He grins at her, and she now notices the forest green colour of his eyes. "Thank you, I guess..." she kicks a rock in her path, watching as it disappears behind a bush. "And you hit pretty hard," he adds, rubbing the side of his head. "I think I'll have a bruise on my head for a while.

Madeline cringes and mutters a quick apology. Finnick laughs. "I'm just messing with you, the old goose will have a home-made remedy ready in no time." Finnick looks down at her torn skirt and blouse. "I'll also have her get you a new pair of clothes."

"Preferably some pants," grumbles Madeline. "I hate wearing these long skirts."

"Of course," laughs Finnick. "I'll make sure of it. I will also make sure you get back home." "That is what I'm still freaked out about," Madeline says slowly. "I have no clue how I got sucked into a book."

"Perhaps you'll figure that out soon."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Asks Madeline. "What I mean, is that you have some discussing to do with the old goose." Finnick replies. "I thought she didn't talk much." Says Madeline. "She doesn't, but you're a special case."

⌛︎⌛︎⌛︎

"It's right over here," whispers Finnick, who is pointing to a tall oak tree that has an odd circular shaped symbol carved into the stump. They approach a small hole between the tree, and a damp stone wall, that looks extremely dark, and as if reading her mind, Finnick turns to her and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's going to be really tight in there, as well as dark, so you probably won't be able to see anything." "I'll be fine," reassures Madeline, wanting to squeeze Finnick's hand back, but doesn't have enough courage to do so.

Without another word said, they climb into the tight damp space together. Madeline holds her breath, as she awkwardly side shuffles through the dark passage, and finds it particularly hard to breathe when Finnick's hand accidentally brushes the side of her small waist. She lets out a tiny breath, but doesn't say anything about it. Especially not about how she didn't particularly hate it, but sort of enjoyed it.

"We're almost there," whispers Finnick. "Are we? Because it sure doesn't seem like it," Madeline whispers back. Finnick lets out a small laugh. "I promise you, just a little bit more to go."

And Finnick wasn't wrong, in almost no time at all, they've reach the end of the passage, and they jump out onto the dew stained grass. "God, that felt like hours," sighs Madeline. "What? Are you claustrophobic?" Finnick asks, gently bumping shoulders with her. "Maybe a little bit," she answers truthfully. "But barely."

In the distance she can hear the muffled sound of children's laughter, slowly getting louder.

"I have to warn you now that they are rather loud, and clingy. But I'll try to keep them off of you as best as I can." As if on cue, a little girl comes running up to Madeline, and Finnick scoops her up before she can even touch her skirt. "Hey there Padmé," he says stroking her short black hair. "She's our guest, best not to scare her away." The little girl looks up at Madeline with an adorably evil grin, her face smeared with dirt. "Padmé? Where are you?" Another boy runs up to them, looking not much younger than Madeline, probably about thirteen. He pats his blonde hair, and try's to shake out all the dust. "There you are," he says as he takes Padmé from Finnick.

"Who's this Finney?" The boy asks. "I'm Madeline," she answers before Finnick can answer for her. "I'll explain later," Finnick tells the boy. "I'm Harry," he says, holding his hand out in front of him. Madeline shakes it, and smiles down at the boy politely.

"Finney's picked up a girl," Padmé giggles. "She's our guest," Finnick corrects her rather quickly. "And where's the old goose?" He asks Harry. "She's inside the hut." Finnick scratches the back of his neck. "Come with me," he tells Madeline.

As they walk in the direction of the hut, the loud shouts of Padmé and her giggling follow them. "Finney's picked up a girl, Finney's picked up a pretty girl!!!!"